


Four Minutes and Ten Seconds

by astramaxima (shotgunsinlace)



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Bottom Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Clothed Sex, Humor, Inappropriate Use of Government Buildings, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet Sex, Semi-Public Sex, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/astramaxima
Summary: Agent Stone playfully tells Dr. Robotnik to pin himself to the wall.
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	Four Minutes and Ten Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up this morning and went "you know what? I'm gonna write some porn that is NOT 6k words longs just to prove that I can". And thus this fun little bit was born. PLUS, my upcoming fics/updates are very dark and serious and sad so I wanted something cute to soften the blow. *throws up a peace sign*

“You have ten seconds to face the wall and four minutes to finish once I start.”

Robotnik stops mid-step, whirling around to his reprehensible agent who now thinks can tell him what to do at any given point in time. “Not even gonna be polite about it?” Without checking to see if the coast is clear, Robotnik lifts a hand and taps a sequence into his gloves, deactivating all security cameras in the vicinity with a dramatic roll of the eyes that matches the flair of his half spin as he turns to the wall. “Three minutes,” he clarifies, “since I didn’t feel like using looped footage for those.”

Behind him, Stone huffs out a laugh accompanied by the sound of a zipper. “I’m blaming you if we get caught.”

“Considering you have _me_ pinned, they won’t be inclined to believe you.”

Stone’s arms come around him, hands blindly fondling their way up his shirt in search of the button and zip of his pants. He finds them with a self-satisfied “ah, here we go,” before undoing them, pushing Robotnik’s pants midway down his thighs and giving his right thigh a soft swat. “Hold your coat for me? Don’t wanna get it dirty.”

“Expecting me to put effort into this without my input,” Robotnik says, scandalized but doing as requested as he drapes his coattails over the crook of his elbow, both hands back on the wall and shivering at the rush of cold air against heated skin. “Chop chop, Stone. Wouldn’t want your Commander in Chief to catch us in such a compromising position.”

The jingling of a belt buckle followed by the sound of his agent spitting on what is likely his hand makes Robotnik arch his hips on instinct, presenting his bare and woefully unprepared ass for whatever debauchery Stone has in mind to commit in the halls of the Pentagon.

“I’d say he can blow me, but he doesn’t deserve the honor. Spread your legs a bit, Doctor.” Robotnik grins nevertheless, spreading as much as he can while still trapped in his pants. He hums with pleasant delight when Stone slips his slick cock between his thighs. “Close them up for me.”

“Interesting.”

Stone presses a kiss to the back of his neck, just above the edge of his collar while adjusting himself, his hands on the outside of Robotnik’s thighs and pushing them tighter together. “Have I ever told you what nice thighs you have?”

“Only a dozen times since we started this little game, but flattery _will_ get you anywhere you want.”

It’s uncoordinated and messy. While the idea of getting his thighs fucked arouses him, it does little to nothing by means of actual stimulation. Only sometimes does that thick cockhead nudge the spot right behind the balls that makes Robotnik gasp, but otherwise he just stands there, mildly bored while Stone gets off on his exhibition kink. That’s not to say it isn’t worth it, given his agent—quiet man that he is even while getting his prostate viciously milked—has devolved into quiet little hums and labored breathing, puffs of air tickling the skin beneath Robotnik’s ears.

Maybe it’s the height difference but Robotnik thinks of the mating positions of some sort of mid-sized dog trying to mount a Great Dane. Ridiculous. Impractical. Even when said wannabe mini Doberman wraps his arms around Robotnik’s middle, pressing fully against his back as his hips slow to short but powerful thrusts, whining against his shoulder as he pants a soft “I’m so close, Doctor”—well.

Maybe, just this once, it doesn’t have to be about himself. Stone can have his fun and get himself off however he pleases, but that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. Robotnik will get his sweet revenge later. For now, he squeezes his thighs closer together to feel the way Stone’s pace stutters, his hands now fisting his shirt.

“Jerk yourself off for me,” he requests, voice strained and sweet as he pants his desire.

“We’re almost out of time so I suggest you finish up, Agent.”

“Oh, fuck. I almost like this more than—”

“Less talking more fucking.”

Stone laughs at the remark, molding his front to Robotnik’s back, humping in earnest as his shoes squeak against the expensive tile floors of the United States’ holiest structure built to worship the god of death.

Robotnik closes his eyes and listens, grounds himself regardless of the reactions his sensitive skin elicits at the sensations. He is hard, desperate to be touched—should’ve heeded Stone’s prompt to get himself off, but not yet. A little bit of blue balling never killed anyone, and a little bit of frustration now can go a long way once they are in the safety of the lab where Stone can truly fuck his brains until he’s nothing but a wet mess bent over his console.

There is nothing quite like fucking on the government’s dime.

Leaning back, Stone’s hands drop to Robotnik’s hips for better leverage when his pace quickens, becoming more erratic, the jingle of his belt buckle nearly deafening in the otherwise relatively silent hallway. “Ready for my load, baby?”

Robotnik’s cock jerks painfully at the words, moaning despite himself. “Do it, Stone.”

Stone slams forward with a sharp gasp and a groan, and Robotnik has half a mind to cup where Stone settles to catch the squirts of cum that would have painted the wall, but instead lingers to coat the inside of his thighs.

The wrist device beeps its thirty-second warning and neither wastes time in pulling themselves back together, Robotnik reaching inside Stone’s jacket to wipe his glove clean with a grimace. “Somehow, not the worst fluid I’ve gotten on them.”

Aside from the flush on their cheeks and the bit of sweat that Stone dabs at with his sleeve, there is no evidence left of their playful indiscretion, Robotnik patting Stone’s ass before resuming his imposing march down the hall, grateful for the length of his shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> you know where to find me.


End file.
